Spirit Fingers vs. Worship

There is a particular audience I spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to impress.

Me.

I would love to tell you that I have completely graduated from caring what people think. That I have reached this beautifully mature place where opinions roll off my back, criticism doesn’t bother me, & I just float through life in the full armor of God with excellent posture.

Girl, please.

Sometimes I am the performer, the audience, the critic, the stylist, the publicist & the entire PR department.

I want to look like I have it together.

Even to myself.

Especially to myself.

Which makes 2 Samuel 6:20-22 incredibly uncomfortable because David is doing the exact opposite.

David has just danced before the Lord with so much freedom that when he gets home, Michal basically meets him at the door like Simon Cowell during the early American Idol auditions.

“So. That’s what we’re doing now?”

She sees the king dancing. She sees him behaving in a way she thinks is beneath him. She sees him celebrating in front of servants & ordinary people & basically tells him he embarrassed himself.

And David’s response?

“I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this…”
2 Samuel 6:21-22

Sir.

MORE undignified?

Because personally, if somebody told me I had embarrassed myself, I would immediately replay the entire event in my head from seventeen different camera angles.

“Was I doing too much?”

“Did everybody see?”

“Should I tone it down next time?”

“Who has the footage?”

David said absolutely not.

Run it back.

Because David understood something I am still learning.

Worship was never supposed to make me look good.

Worship is simply my response to how good God is.

That’s it.

It is me recognizing who God is, what He has done, what He has carried me through, what He has forgiven, what He has protected me from, what He has provided & responding to Him because of it.

Sometimes that response is a song.

Sometimes it’s obedience.

Sometimes it’s tears.

Sometimes it’s surrender.

Sometimes it’s gratitude.

Sometimes it’s doing the thing He told me to do even though I would personally like to submit a different suggestion for consideration.

Worship is bigger than music.

It’s my life saying, “God, You are worth this.”

And honestly, worship is kind of PDA for God.

Public displays of affection.

Which is unfortunate because PDA still gives me a tiny bit of the ick.

Like okay, y’all love each other. Beautiful. Wonderful. The Lord has done a marvelous thing.

But do we have to climb inside each other’s skin in the Target checkout line?

However, the more I thought about it, the more God got me there too.

Because relationships need expression.

I can love somebody all day long in my head, but they don’t benefit from the love I think about giving them.

They benefit from the love I actually show them.

Relationships don’t survive very well on “but you know how I feel.”

And neither should my relationship with God.

Romans 5:8 says, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

God demonstrated His love.

He showed it.

The cross was the greatest PDA there has ever been.

Which made me ask myself a question I didn’t particularly appreciate:

Why am I sometimes so determined to love God discreetly?

I can know about Him.

Study Him.

Highlight Him.

Quote Him.

Post Him.

Explain Him.

Defend Him.

But knowing a lot about God isn’t the same thing as actually knowing God.

And whew.

Because we live in an age where I can consume six sermons, three devotionals, seventeen reels & a podcast before lunch.

I can have four Bible translations open, three different colored highlighters & notes in every margin while God is sitting there like,

“Okay… but are you going to do what I said?”

I can become incredibly informed about God while still struggling to experience Him.

And that brings me back to David.

Because to understand why this man is dancing like nobody has WiFi, we have to understand what he just got back.

The Ark of the Covenant wasn’t just a fancy gold church box.

God gave Moses specific instructions for building it in Exodus 25. It was a sacred chest covered in gold, & it was connected to some major reminders of God’s relationship with His people. The tablets of the covenant were associated with it, along with a jar of manna & Aaron’s staff that had budded.

Basically, this thing carried receipts.

The tablets reminded them of God’s Word & His covenant.

The manna reminded them, “God provided.”

Aaron’s staff reminded them, “God has authority.”

And above the Ark was the mercy seat.

Mercy.

Right there in the middle of everything.

The Ark represented God’s presence with His people.

His promises.

His provision.

His authority.

His holiness.

His faithfulness.

So this wasn’t just furniture they had been missing.

This was deeply connected to the presence of God among Israel.

And David wanted it back.

BAD.

The Ark had been captured by the Philistines in 1 Samuel 4. Eventually it made its way back into Israel, but it still wasn’t where David believed it belonged.

Then David became king.

And David wanted the presence of God back in the center.

That part got me.

Because I know exactly what it feels like to have God somewhere in my life without actually having Him at the center of it.

Those are two very different things.

I can believe in God & still build my life around comfort.

I can pray & still make decisions based on fear.

I can read Scripture every morning & still care entirely too much about what everybody thinks of me.

I can love God & still have something else sitting in His seat.

And my heart is a throne.

Not a couch.

God isn’t asking me to scoot over so He can squeeze in beside my career, my reputation, my comfort, my relationships, my plans & my need to control everything.

He wants first place.

God will share a lot with me.

But He will not share being God.

And sometimes He will let me find out just how terrible the things I put above Him are at doing His job.

My image cannot save me.

My status cannot sustain me.

My money cannot secure me.

My intelligence cannot protect me.

My ability to look okay cannot heal me.

And BABY, do I know how to look okay.

I can be internally hanging on by one emotional bobby pin & still answer,

“I’m good!”

You would never know.

Because I have mastered the sacred art of looking like everything is under control while internally I am the Kirsten Dunst in Bring It On realizing, in front of an entire stadium, that the Clovers are doing the exact same routine.

Spirit fingers.

Smile.

Hit the formation.

We have been EXPOSED.

And honestly, that makes the comparison even more uncomfortable.

Because the Toros looked polished.

They knew the routine.

They hit the counts.

They had the uniforms, the smiles, the crowd & the performance.

The problem was what was underneath it.

It wasn’t theirs.

And I wonder how many times I have been more concerned with looking like I have a relationship with God than actually being present in the relationship.

How many times have I known the routine?

Known when to say amen.

Known the Scripture.

Known the worship song.

Known what the Christian response was supposed to sound like.

Hit every count.

Spirit fingers.

Smile.

While God was trying to get underneath the performance.

Which is probably why David’s worship bothers me in the best way.

He had an image to maintain too.

He was the king.

He had status.

Money.

Authority.

People watching.

A whole reputation.

And when the presence of God came back, none of that mattered.

There is no VIP section in worship.

The crown didn’t make David too important to dance.

His position didn’t make him too successful to praise.

And his reputation wasn’t more important than God’s presence.

But here’s what makes his dancing even more emotional for me.

This wasn’t David’s first attempt.

This was his second chance.

The first time David tried to bring the Ark to Jerusalem, it ended horribly.

They weren’t carrying the Ark the way God had instructed. When it started to shift, Uzzah reached out, touched it & died.

David was angry.

Then David was afraid.

And everything stopped.

The Ark stayed at Obed-Edom’s house for three months.

Imagine that.

David wanted God.

David had good intentions.

David was excited.

Everybody was celebrating.

And they still got it wrong.

That’ll preach to me without anybody preaching.

Because good intentions don’t replace obedience.

I can genuinely want what God wants & still try to get there my way.

I can say, “But God, my heart was in the right place.”

And God can lovingly show me,

“Yes, but your instructions were over here.”

Some things God tells me to do cannot be done properly without God.

So when David comes back for the Ark in 2 Samuel 6, this isn’t just a parade.

This is a man who got another chance.

This is “God, I messed this up before & You let me come back.”

This is second chance worship.

And suddenly his dancing makes so much more sense.

Because there is a different kind of praise that comes out of me when I remember I shouldn’t even be here.

When I remember what God brought me through.

When I remember what could have happened.

When I remember what DID happen & somehow didn’t take me out.

When I remember the things He forgave.

The messes He cleaned up.

The doors He shut while I was throwing a whole tantrum because I wanted them open.

The prayers I cried over that eventually became regular Tuesday mornings.

The versions of me He loved enough not to leave me as.

No wonder David danced.

He remembered.

And I think sometimes my worship gets quiet because my memory gets short.

I forget what He brought me from.

I forget what He protected me from.

I forget what He is currently keeping buried that I have absolutely no business digging back up.

Because apparently sometimes I think I work for the spiritual department of archaeology.

“God, remember this thing You delivered me from?”

God: “Unfortunately, yes.”

Me: “Well, I found a shovel.”

Girl. PUT IT DOWN.

Some things need to stay buried.

Because when I remember correctly, worship starts making sense.

David wasn’t dancing because everything in his life had always gone perfectly.

He was dancing because he knew what it meant to get another chance.

And I know something about another chance.

Another chance to obey.

Another chance to heal.

Another chance to respond differently.

Another chance to trust.

Another chance to apologize.

Another chance to forgive.

Another chance to stop carrying something God already told me to put down.

Another chance to let God sit in places where I have allowed fear, pride, anger, comfort & control to make themselves at home.

And another chance to worship without checking whether anybody thinks I am doing too much.

Because Michal certainly did.

She watched David worship & basically said,

“Embarrassing.”

It’s giving Simon Cowell.

“Absolutely dreadful.”

And here’s where I have to be fair to Michal. She had her own history, her own pain & a complicated story of her own.

But in this moment, she was judging something she wasn’t experiencing.

David had encountered God.

Michal was watching through a window.

And I had to sit with that.

Because people who didn’t live through what God brought me through may never understand the way I respond to the One who brought me out.

They weren’t there.

They didn’t hear the conversations between God & me.

They didn’t see the nights.

They didn’t feel the fear.

They weren’t there when I thought I wasn’t going to make it.

They didn’t see God hold together something I was absolutely convinced was falling apart.

So maybe they don’t get a vote in my worship.

And unfortunately, I have also been Michal.

Because I have absolutely watched somebody else’s worship & thought,

“Okayyyyy. That’s a little much.”

Meanwhile heaven probably looked at me like,

“Girl. You don’t even know what I did for them.”

Oop.

Everybody’s worship doesn’t have to look like mine.

Actually, it probably shouldn’t.

Because worship isn’t choreography.

It’s personal.

Some people shout.

Some people cry.

Some people dance.

Some people kneel.

Some people sit completely still because if they move one inch, the entire emotional dam is coming down & we’re going to need towels.

Some people lift their hands.

Some people whisper.

Some people can barely get the words out.

The expression can be different because the relationship is personal.

Psalm 22:3 talks about God being enthroned in the praises of His people.

God is everywhere. I don’t have to sing loud enough for Him to finally walk into the room.

But there is something different about knowing God is everywhere & actually becoming aware that He is here.

I don’t just want to know about His presence.

I want to live like He’s present.

Because it is absolutely possible to look Christian & live disconnected from the power of Christ.

2 Timothy 3:5 warns about “having a form of godliness but denying its power.”

And THAT scares me more than looking foolish ever should.

I don’t want a faith that looks good but has no life in it.

I don’t want to know church language but not know God’s voice.

I don’t want Scripture posts without surrender.

I don’t want worship music without worship.

I don’t want to look transformed while secretly protecting everything God keeps asking me to hand over.

I want the Ark over everything.

His presence over my presentation.

Relationship over reputation.

God over my image.

Because what I do with my words, my time, my money, my attention & my energy says something about what matters to me.

What I protect says something.

What I prioritize says something.

What gets most of me says something.

And what I absolutely refuse to surrender definitely says something.

Maybe worship is where I stop trying so hard to look like I have everything together.

Maybe worship is where the king’s robe comes off.

Where the performance ends.

Where I can finally stop being the Rancho Carne Toros, smiling & hitting my counts while knowing good & well something underneath the performance isn’t right.

Where I finally admit:

“God, You brought me out.”

“You kept me.”

“You corrected me.”

“You forgave me.”

“You gave me another chance.”

“You were faithful when I was confused.”

“You stayed God when I was angry with You.”

“You stayed close when I pulled away.”

“You loved me when I could quote Your Word but struggled to actually trust it.”

And suddenly…

I understand David.

Of course he danced.

The presence was coming home.

Maybe that’s what worship is for me.

Remembering who God is so clearly that for once, I forget who I’m trying to impress.

Including myself.

So if loving God makes me look a little ridiculous sometimes, maybe that’s okay.

I’ve spent enough of my life trying to look put together.

I’d rather look back & know I remembered.

I remembered what He brought me through.

I remembered the second chances.

I remembered the mercy.

I remembered the cross.

I remembered the prayers He answered.

I remembered the things He didn’t give me because He loved me.

I remembered the doors He closed.

I remembered the things He carried when I couldn’t.

I remembered that I have spent plenty of time smiling, hitting my counts & pretending the routine was fine when God knew what was really going on underneath it.

And I remembered that somehow…

God still brought me out.

David wasn’t confident because David was great.

David worshipped because he knew God was.

And maybe my worship gets freer when I finally stop asking,

“How do I look?”

& start remembering,

“Look what He did.”